


Beautiful Now

by Winddrag0n



Series: Deadmeat [7]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Breaking and Entering, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, One Night Stands, POV Alternating, Past Rape/Non-con, Premature Ejaculation, Prostitution, Purity Kink, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Virginity Kink, all tags beyond this point in the context of roleplaying, but pretty poorly, terrible porn scenarios
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23890666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winddrag0n/pseuds/Winddrag0n
Summary: “I have been… considering something,” Hannibal says slowly, scrubbing away at the food dried onto the dish he is washing.“Well then. Shoot.”“Your empathy allows you to totally assume the mindset of another human being,” Hannibal begins, and immediately it all sharpens into focus.“Roleplay? You’re asking me to roleplay.”--Hannibal suggests taking advantage of Will's empathy to try roleplaying. Things don't always go as planned.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Deadmeat [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514474
Comments: 18
Kudos: 174





	Beautiful Now

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said in the last part the length was just because of the huge interview at the end? Well.
> 
> I don't even know what to say about this one at this point other than it was supposed to happen much earlier but kept getting pushed back by other ideas. It also feels a lot goofier than the other entries in this series, at least until towards the end. I didn't feel that the degree to which the past non-con is involved warranted a major tag, but please tell me if you disagree and I can update it!
> 
> There is, unfortunately, google translate French in this. Maybe I should have sent them to Spain instead so I'd at least be able to tell if anything is horrifically wrong... I tried my best to write it in a way that the scene is understandable without being able to read a word of it- hopefully I was successful in that regard.

It’s only fair that it’s Hannibal that surprises Will with an odd request the next time it happens.

“I have been… considering something,” Hannibal says slowly, scrubbing away at the food dried onto the dish he is washing.

He even chose the same time to spring the question, the bastard. “You’re always considering everything, Hannibal. Be more specific.”

“Very well. Shall we talk in the study?”

“And have this turn into another impromptu therapy session? Absolutely not. Ask me now.”

Hannibal looks minutely displeased, but he does keep talking. “I would like us to explore other scenarios, intimately speaking.”

That could mean about a thousand different things, so Will is silent for a while as he pinpoints what exactly the other man is getting at. When he finds it, a sly smile blossoms across his face. “Feeling unsatisfied? Listless? Difficulty performing?”

Now, Hannibal is looking at him like he’s mentally revisiting all the times he decided not to stab Will and wondering if he made a mistake. “I would think that you have a great deal of first-hand experience indicating that is not the case.”

He homes back in on the point before he can irritate Hannibal into dropping it entirely. “Well then. Shoot.”

“Your empathy allows you to totally assume the mindset of another human being,” Hannibal begins, and immediately it all sharpens into focus.

“Roleplay? You’re asking me to roleplay.”

“To put it simply, yes. It could be an interesting and illuminating experience.”

Will thinks Hannibal might just be a little bit mad he wasn’t the first man (or person period) Will had ever slept with, but he refrains from pointing that out. They had more than enough firsts of their own. “Aren’t you worried about forcing me to overuse my empathy and losing myself?”

“Of course not. You are more sure of yourself here than you ever have been.”

Hannibal is right, of course, and Will sighs. “Yeah, alright, we can try this. You probably have a long list of scenarios written on parchment somewhere already, so what do you have in mind?”

Predictably, Hannibal smiles. “Let us meet in the study and we can discuss the matter.”

Always the study. Again, Will sighs, but lets himself be drawn towards the fire.

It is not often that Hannibal finds himself with a free afternoon, despite Will’s assertions to the contrary. He makes an effort to be free for lunch but often returns to work afterwards. The summer sun is bright and warm, not hot enough to be uncomfortable, and there is a pleasant breeze blowing in from the shore. It brings with it the sharp scent of salt, the distinct tang of the sea.

The scent is one now inextricably linked with Will, who spends a great many days at the harbor. He always returns smelling of oil and sweat and the ocean itself. It suits the man. Sometimes, he likes to think, if he breathes deeply enough he can smell Will himself on the wind. 

Truthfully, he is simply out running errands, the bottles of wine safely tucked away in the trunk of his car. Groceries are next, fresh vegetables and fruit plucked from a quaint outdoor market that Hannibal has found to have the highest quality produce. Meat he could trust Will to find acceptable cuts of, but the man was simply blind to what made anything else good. No matter how often Hannibal pointed out the damp, wilting greens or the bruised apples, he would always shrug as if to say ‘it’s just going to end up cooked, so what’s the difference?’ Eventually he had given up and simply took it upon himself to do their shopping.

Sometimes he wonders if that had been Will’s goal all along, and he doesn’t like that he can’t truly rule that possibility out. It’s difficult to admit to the ease at which Will is able to manipulate him.

He has chosen something light to wear, khaki slacks and a white button-up, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. While he had of course brought them with him to France he finds he wears his suits less and less, opting for a more casual look. Maybe he doesn’t need the armor anymore, or maybe he just likes the way Will smiles at him when he sees his softer appearance. It doesn’t matter ultimately. The suits will always be there, ready for him to wear at any moment if he so desires. It’s not as if Will has forced him not to, after all.

As he is walking, a man rounds a corner far too quickly and before he has time to react, their bodies collide. Neither falls but the man had been carrying a drink, coffee by the look and smell, easily discernible from the way it is now slowly seeping into the white shirt.

“Oh my god.” The man’s eyes, wide and blue, flick between the stain and Hannibal’s face. They shoot down a couple more times before moving back up and locking there, the man’s face relaxing. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m really, really sorry.”

He doesn’t _look_ sorry, his expression something closer to a bashful flirtatiousness. Brown curls frame a strong, masculine face, features surprising delicate, eyes bright and rimmed in long lashes. Very handsome, but unspeakably rude. “Yes, this is quite unfortunate.” The coffee will very likely stain. He may have to throw the shirt out entirely.

“I can make it up to you,” the man offers, voice sweet. He’s stepped closer, angling his body to make himself seem smaller, more petite. “Please, sir. I’ll do _anything._ ”

“A business card will suffice. I will contact you for payment for the dry cleaning.” The man looks similar to Will, though he is clean-shaven, and Will would never lower himself to this level. 

Not-Will frowns- no, it’s more of a pout. White teeth bite at his lower lip and he looks up at Hannibal from beneath his lashes. “ _Anything,_ ” he repeats. His insistence in prostituting himself is quite off-putting. 

“A card is more than enough. I insist.”

“ _Hannibal,_ ” the man hisses, now peering at him with something tighter and more irritated. Not-Will resolves itself into simply Will.

“Ah,” is all Hannibal says.

With a groan, Will steps backwards and straightens up. “Really? You knew what we were supposed to be doing.”

“Your performance was more realistic than I had been prepared for.”

Will rubs a hand along his smooth jaw. “I shaved for no reason.”

“Now,” Hannibal amends, stepping forward and placing his own hand on that soft skin. He lowers his voice when he speaks. “I don’t believe I would say it was done for no reason.”

Another emotion joins the irritation now, and faintly, Will smiles.

Work at the docks, while enjoyable, didn’t quite fill as much of Will’s time as he would have liked. Only without them did Will realize how much of his time his dogs had taken up. When he was left alone as Hannibal met with clients or taught or whatever else he happened to be doing that day, he often roamed the house aimlessly. Sometimes he works in the workshop he had set up but he had filled the house with so many tables and chairs that Hannibal had to politely ask him to stop. Selling them was always an option but not an immediate one. So he had found work in a somewhat unexpected area- as a handyman.

It had started with another worker from the harbor who had complained of flickering lights. Will had offered to take a look and fixed the problem easily. Word spread, and soon enough Will was fixing windows and leaky pipes and water heaters all around town. 

He hadn’t met the current client personally, a friend of a friend, in a way. It was his last job of the day so he was already tired and sweaty, stripped down to just a white undershirt in the summer sun. He always took care to make himself presentable before entering a house but showering in between jobs simply wasn’t feasible.

The home is just outside the town, a large and beautiful home on the cliffs. Ivy wrapped around the two-story building, carefully tended to so as not to overwhelm it entirely. The ocean was just a short trip down the cliff away. Must be nice, having so much money. 

Will knocks on the front door, tool belt slung low across his hips. A toolbox dangled from his other hand, filled with whatever else he may need for the job. A broken sink, he had been told. The man that opens the door is tall, older, sharp features and a quiet intensity about him. Deep brown eyes, almost burgundy, take a slow journey up and down his body before the man speaks. “You must be the handyman.”

“One and only,” Will answers with a grin, holding out a hand to shake. The grip the other man produces is warm and tight, fingers lingering just a touch too long before retreating. “I hear you’ve got a leaky sink?”

“I’m afraid so.” The man steps back to allow Will into the house, closing the door behind him. “The kitchen is just through here.”

Those eyes follow him like a brand, lingering in particular on his lower back and further down. Will knows the shirt is likely stuck to his body with dried sweat, leaving nothing to the imagination. Bored, rich clients looking to enjoy the show weren’t exactly new but this may be the most blatant anyone has been about it. He finds the sink easily. “So what’s the problem?”

“Would you like anything to drink?” It’s not remotely an answer, and Will raises an eyebrow. “It has been quite a warm day and I imagine you have been working hard. I have just made a pitcher of fresh lemonade if you are thirsty.”

Will thinks he might not be the thirsty one in this situation. “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

The older man opens the fridge. “The problem with the sink should become apparent when you attempt to turn on the faucet.”

As instructed, Will turns on the water and it immediately sprays everywhere, mostly onto himself. “Should just be the aerator, really. I can clean it in a jiffy.” His thin undershirt is soaked, clinging even closer to his body, turning transparent and hiding nothing.

He tries to lower the handle to turn the sink back off and it detaches from the sink entirely. The water hasn’t stopped.

“Oh shit,” Will hisses. Water has started spraying up from the new opening now, the parts that should have stopped it from doing so obviously missing. He fumbles, trying to jam the handle back in place and stop the spray before it soaks into the walls and cabinets further. It does nothing. Panicking now, he drops to his knees and opens the cabinet beneath to expose the piping. “Valve, where’s the shutoff valve, for fuck’s sake-” It’s hidden almost entirely at the back. In his panic, Will turns it the wrong way at first, increasing the pressure of the spray before he finally shuts it off entirely.

When he emerges from underneath the sink it’s to Hannibal, standing in front of the fridge holding two glasses of lemonade, looking every inch like he’s trying to hide how entertaining he’s found all of this. “What the fuck did you do to our sink?” Will accuses him. “All you had to do was mess with the aerator like I told you.”

“I may have removed some additional parts.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“To ensure success.”

Will’s face contorts into soundless snarl. “Well you successfully _broke it_ , that’s for sure. Where are the other parts?”

Hannibal sets the drinks on the counter and opens a drawer, pulling out a truly frightening amount of pieces. It’s a miracle the faucet has retained its shape at all. “Can you still fix it?”

“Yes, but it’s going to take a while. Can you at least dry everything off while I work on this? Unless you want cabinet mold.”

“Of course.”

It ends up taking Will several hours to repair the damage Hannibal has done. At some point he strips off the sodden shirt entirely. Hannibal sits and watches him the entire time- at least someone managed to get some enjoyment out of this disaster.

Hannibal finds he detests sleeping alone.

It’s a strange realization to come to- after all, he has slept alone for more than four decades. But now, so used to the warm presence of Will by his side, the bed feels cold and empty.

On nights his partner had stayed out late he had always known the man would return eventually, even if not until dangerously close to dawn. There was an added bonus to nights such as those; Will always returned filled with some variety of restless energy, ripping the clothes off of them both until they fell back sweaty into the sheets. Those were not the only times they had sex, of course, that happened more nights then it didn’t, but there was something undeniably appealing about the way Will came just the slightest bit unglued. This played a large role in Hannibal’s acceptance of the man’s less dignified hobbies.

Though it seems to have come back to bite him in the ass, this time. Will expressed a desire to attend an event at the other end of the country, far enough away that he is spending the night alone in a hotel. Next time, Hannibal decides, he will travel with the man, if not to the event itself. He does not expect Will to protest.

The house is totally silent, not even filled with the rustling of sheets or soft grunts Will sometimes makes in his sleep. It feels nearly oppressive. Hannibal has always been proud of his ability to force himself to sleep in any circumstances but even that now fails him. He will attempt to sleep one more time and if that fails, resign himself to a night without rest.

It may be working, Hannibal feeling himself starting to slide deep into sleep, until a faint rattling snaps him out of it. Now he sits bolt upright, barely even breathing, listening for more.

He pinpoints the noise- it’s coming from the front door. More rattling, followed by a click and the turning of the knob as the door swings open.

Someone is breaking in.

If they’re foolish enough to choose Hannibal’s home to rob then they deserve what is going to happen to them. If he moves quickly he can minimize the mess so there is less to clean up later. While he doesn’t necessarily _intend_ to hide the intrusion from Will, he does not like the idea that the man will no longer feel safe in their own home. After all, Hannibal is more than capable of protecting the both of them. If he needs to prove that, he is more than willing to do so.

Hannibal creeps downstairs silently, following the sound of the intruder rooting through their belongings in search of valuables. To most people, he muses, it would be a terribly violating experience, but mostly he cannot believe prey has walked directly into his lair. An opportunity he would be loath to waste. There, he sees it- the shadowy figure, quietly opening drawers and tossing things to and fro. As if Hannibal would be foolish enough to leave valuables unsecured in the first place. Silent as ever, Hannibal moves forward, quickly placing himself behind the intruder, and before they have time to react he has an arm around their throat.

Easily, he lifts them off the ground, arm constricting around their neck to cut off the air flow. One of the intruder’s hands moves to his side and draws a knife but Hannibal twists the wrist backwards, forcing them to drop the weapon with a cry of pain. “You have chosen poorly,” Hannibal growls. Will often stays up late, unable to sleep, sitting in this very room and reading with the lights low. What could have happened if he had been home? If the intruder had taken him by surprise with the knife? His arm tightens against the intruder’s struggling, feet kicking uselessly against his shins. Nails bite deeply into his arm, trying to pry it free to no avail. They should lose consciousness soon enough.

“W-” the intruder chokes, trying with his last bit of strength to speak. “W-Winston,” he gasps.

Hannibal immediately drops the intruder from his arms, leaving him bent over on the floor and pulling in great heaves of air. He steps backwards, turns on the lights, and finds Will on the floor of the sitting room.

He goes to the man’s side as quickly as he can manage. “Have I hurt you?”

“Other than the strangling?” Will hisses. “Hannibal, I _told_ you this one was a terrible idea.”

Hannibal flinches away. He had insisted on it, thinking Will was more than capable of matching him blow for blow. No amount of strength and anger can bridge the gap formed by killing so many people. “Will, I am sorry. I should have listened to you.”

“I’m fine,” Will coughs. “Probably will have a hell of a bruise. Look, something about this isn’t working. We’re getting further and further away from the point.”

With a soft hum, Hannibal considers that. “Then perhaps we should refocus?”

“Once my fucking throat heals,” Will mutters, and Hannibal has to agree.

It’s fucking cold.

Will is on the promenade, dressed what would be considered far too lightly for the time of night. He knows from stories he’s overheard, hushed conversations between visitors and workers alike, that prostitutes often hang around this area late at night. It makes sense- it may be the busiest area in the city, especially as far as tourists go. No one makes any trouble and the cops tend to look the other way. He had found a deserted area, not wanting to interfere with anyone’s actual work for what feels more and more like silly games. Because of that he’s in an area not quite lit up, tucked a bit further out of the way, away from prying eyes.

They had agreed, for safety’s sake, that Will should remain himself until he actually sees Hannibal’s car. It wouldn’t do for Will to fall too deeply into the mindset and vanish with a stranger, after all. Despite the fact that Will doesn’t really recall seeing men walking the streets to begin with it’s nothing but an unnecessary risk.

So he’s here, waiting, the icy chill of night seeping into his bones as he bites back the humiliation.

It would be ridiculous for him to be upset considering this particular scenario had been his idea to begin with. He’s wearing clothes he would normally go dancing in, tight black pants and a short sleeved shirt that may be a size too small, neck cut low. It’s not like he feels strongly either way in regards to the fashion but he has found it’s easier to blend in and be swept away when he looks the part. A dark-spirited man dressed in dark clothes, waiting in the darkness, nearly invisible. He might attract the wrong sort of attention from the cops entirely like this. Will laughs bitterly. 

A car pulls up next to him, as if on cue, a pale green. Not Hannibal. “Shit,” he murmurs. _Is_ it a cop? The window rolls down to reveal the driver.

“Combien?” floats through the crack in the window. Not a cop, definitely not a cop.

“Rien,” Will answers, arms crossing in front of his chest. “Allez-vous en.”

All he hears is muttered curses and then the window rolls back up and the car drives away. Will blinks. They had discussed precautions beforehand, but he didn’t once think that someone would actually try to _buy_ him. He’s dressed blandly and pushing forty, for god’s sake. Well, there’s always someone desperate for a deal, no matter the situation. 

At least twenty minutes pass, Will grinding his teeth in irritation. Hannibal sure is taking his sweet time. Another car rolls to a stop in front of him- red. He had suggested Hannibal use a rental to preserve his reputation should anyone see him picking up what is presumably a prostitute but the other man had declined in favor of arriving in a car that Will easily recognizes. Another stranger, then. This time the window rolls down all the way, revealing a man in cheap sunglasses. “Cinquante euros,” he growls, dangling a cigarette out of the car window. “C'est tout ce que tu mérites.”

Will _scowls._ It’s terribly insulting, everything from his attitude to the pitiful offer. He hopes none of the women have taken it. “Va te faire foutre!” he calls out, voice tight.

“Sale pute!” the man shouts back, spitting out the window before peeling away. Will memorizes the plate- could come in handy later.

When the third car rolls up, white this time, Will is silently pleading for it to be a cop. It’s not. “Hé chérie,” the man inside coos.

“Non,” is all Will hisses. “Partir.”

“Ne sois pas timide,” comes the gentle reassurance.

“I’m not a hooker,” Will mutters.

“Eh?” The driver looks Will up and down- it seems he speaks English. “My dear, you should be. Wait for your honey somewhere safer so the bad men do not get you.”

Will flips the man off, who blows him a kiss before pulling away. This is starting to get out of hand. He considers calling Hannibal and ending it all but he can manage another thirty minutes.

It’s a bike, this time. The messenger looks younger, eyes darting around nervously before passing Will a piece of paper. _Vous ne pouvez pas faire des affaires ici,_ it reads, _sauf si vous souhaitez que nous vous aidions._

He barely stops himself from tearing the paper to shreds. “You, look at me. Do you speak English?” While he can communicate perfectly fine in French, his native language has and always will be easier, particularly when he is upset.

Thankfully the boy nods. It makes sense that he would know another common language, particularly since his job appears to be a liaison between the prostitutes and the organizations behind them. “I’m _not selling myself,_ ” Will grinds out. “I’m just waiting for a friend to pick me up and I do _not_ need a new job. I’ll be out of your hair shortly, alright?”

He looks a bit confused- not the firmest grasp on English- but the boy nods again. “Pas une pute,” he says, voice quiet, and Will nods. “Waiting… for friend?”

“Yes,” Will sighs. “The only kind of dirty work I could do for whoever you’re running for is fixing their air conditioning or removing some really suspicious stains. Got it?”

Unsurprisingly, the boy looks mildly confused again. “Be quick,” is all he answers with, taking back the paper and finally riding away. 

Will is about to pull out his phone to call Hannibal when a sleek black Bentley finally, _finally_ pulls up beside him. Before Hannibal can even so much as roll the window down Will is making his way to the passenger door, yanking it open and closing it behind him with more force than is strictly necessary.

Hannibal looks thrown, trying to reevaluate the situation to see if the game is still afoot. “Apparently I make a very convincing prostitute,” is all Will says, more of an irritated grumble than actual words.

“Ah,” is the only answer he gets. “Then let us return home.”

“Please,” Will sighs. “We need to start smaller.”

“Smaller,” Hannibal echos. “I believe we can manage that.”

If he wants to drink, the vast majority of the time, Hannibal will do so alone. The only time he will venture out to a bar is if he’s seeking entertainment for the evening. Whether that entertainment will lean towards pleasure or a bloodier activity, well, that would reveal itself as the night wore on.

It’s not the sort of bar he’d normally frequent but that’s exactly why he chose it. Somewhere he would be neither recognized nor remembered. When he steps inside his eyes sweep over the room, men and women alike. A target doesn’t generally present themselves that easily but it does happen. There, at the bar- a man, surrounded by several beer bottles, hunched over in his misery. Totally alone. Hannibal leaves a seat between them as he sits, ordering his own drink and watching the man out of the corner of his eye. Riotous curls, overgrown stubble, and the quickest flash of startlingly blue eyes. One tick in the ‘pleasure’ column. “Drinking alone?” Hannibal offers.

The man glances at him before huffing and turning away. One for ‘murder’, then. But just when it seems he’s going to be ignored entirely, the man speaks. His voice, shaky with grief, is low and melodic. “Drinking to forget.”

“And what great sorrow has visited you today? I promise I won’t tell.”

Next to him the man sighs, eyes downcast. “Guess it can’t get any shittier.” He holds up his left hand, a simple golden band on the ring finger- Hannibal’s heart rate doubles at the sight, it looks so natural, so right, like it belongs there- “Fiancée left me.”

“A tragedy indeed.” He leans closer. “I’ve heard sharing your pain with strangers does wonders for healing.” 

The man glances his way again, then back towards his beer. He downs the remainder in one long gulp. “It’s not an exciting story.”

“It need not be.”

A soft thunk as the man lets his head fall against the bar. He holds his right hand aloft, a similar ring on that ring finger as well. “You know what this is?”

Hannibal blinks. “A promise ring.”

“She didn’t just break it, she broke it by cheating on me. This was-” his voice catches here, a sob slipping out. “This was a big trip for us, just before the wedding. When I confronted her about it she just _blew up._ Called me controlling and old-fashioned before breaking it off entirely.”

“It’s important to you.”

The head jerks back up, a flicker of anger in the man’s gaze. “It’s important to _God,_ ” he spits out. “To remain pure until the wedding night. _Both of us._ ”

A shiver runs down Hannibal’s spine. From what he’s saying, it seems this beautiful man before him has remained miraculously untouched. He could teach him wonderful things, gentle touches and caresses, show him just what it is that he’s been missing out on this whole time. Ruin him for everyone else. “And do you still feel that way?”

“I don’t fucking care anymore,” the man whispers, a tear rolling down his cheek. “It’s all- I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. She tossed me aside like trash. Threw the rings in a _gutter._ ”

In all likelihood, the woman will try to contact him in the morning, patch things up. She may be rooting through the gutter at this very moment, searching for the rings she had tossed away in a moment of furious passion. 

Hannibal doesn’t care. What he cares about that is the man in front of him now, malleable and distraught and oh so terribly starved of touch. It would be so easy to take him apart with the slightest push. “You are far from trash,” Hannibal purrs, voice low and soothing. “If she did not see that, then perhaps she does not deserve you.”

Blue eyes stutter upwards, meeting Hannibal’s, wavering and shining with tears. “She’s all I had,” he whispers, voice fragile and broken. “I don’t know what to do without her.”

Hannibal smiles kindly, hiding sharp teeth beneath. “Then allow me to show you.”

It’s so simple to charm the man into following him, hushed praise and flattering comments, into his car and back to his home on the cliffs, so cold and empty for far too long. Beside the fire, he takes the man’s jaw in his hands, tilts his head up, and kisses him.

Instantly, the man jerks back, hands on Hannibal’s shoulders, barely pushing him away. “This-” the sentence can’t seem to find its end. “This is, I can’t, it's-”

“Hush,” Hannibal murmurs, pulling the man back towards him, trembling like a newborn foal. “Do not speak. Only feel.”

This time, when their lips meet, the man relaxes against him, his body molding around Hannibal’s like it had been made to fit in that space. Only once he is confident the man will not pull away again does Hannibal move his hands, smoothing down the sides of the man’s body, feeling where it narrows and resting them in the curved indentation. They slide down, coming to rest on hips and pulling the body flush against his.

It rips a gasp out of him and Hannibal licks into the man’s mouth, tilting his head to line them up properly. Two hands grasp the fabric at his shoulders, holding on for dear life, probably pulling threads free in the process. Hannibal finds he does not remotely care at the moment, not with this wonderous being clinging to him like he would die without the touch. He allows his hands to drop further, rest on the globes of his ass, squeezing gently. A startled moan slips out of the man, who breaks away, panting, to rest his forehead on Hannibal’s shoulder. 

Hannibal uses his grip on the man to grind them together, slowly and sweetly until he can feel little aborted thrusts as the man stops himself from moving. “It’s okay,” Hannibal murmurs, mostly into those curls. “You can move.”

The man makes a broken noise and then all of a sudden his hips are rolling forwards, meeting Hannibal’s with far more force and speed than he had been giving. The movements are desperate and rushed, tiny little high pitched whimpers spilling forth from those perfect lips, ones Hannibal cannot stop himself from capturing yet again. It’s less coordinated this time, more passion than finesse. When the man pulls back, it’s only to speak. “What…” he shudders, tucking his face back into Hannibal’s neck. “What is this feeling?”

That almost does it but instead it draws a low growl out of Hannibal. He forces the man’s hips back but only to slide a hand down, cup him through his jeans, a barrier that is all at once entirely unacceptable. The button and fly come undone easily and then Hannibal slides a hand inside, wrapping his finger around the cock inside and squeezing-

And then the man is coming, eyes wide in shock, mouth hanging open in wordless surprise. Hannibal pushes him back against the wall just beside the fireplace and catches his gaze, watches as he experiences all of this for the first time.

His expression resolves into a slight frown, a furrowing of brows. He looks down, stares, runs a finger through the cooling semen and brings it up to inspect, confusion obvious. “What… what _is_ this?”

Hannibal lets his head fall against Will’s shoulder, shaking in silent laughter.

“I took that too far, didn’t I.”

“You did,” Hannibal confirms. “I apologize for not being able to hold character.”

“What did it? The last thing?”

“I would be hard pressed to find a man, chaste as he may be, who does not even know what his own _semen_ looks like.” Somewhat more put together, Hannibal pulls back, finally looking at the Will he knows and loves.

“Guess you have a point,” Will concedes. “Maybe I should stick with a male viewpoint next time.”

The words give Hannibal pause. “You were… assuming the viewpoint of a woman?”

“I mean, yeah? Hannibal, did you think I’ve just made all these people up?” 

“I had assumed they were composites of various mentalities, yes.”

Will shakes his head. “No, that wouldn’t work if you wanted me to _actually_ become someone else. It’s always someone I’ve met or studied, briefly or otherwise. Women are just way more likely to be exposed to this purity ring bullshit to begin with.”

“Even now I do not truly understand the manner of your mind and empathy,” Hannibal murmurs, voice filled with wonder.

“That makes two of us,” Will mutters. He pushes Hannibal back by the shoulders, further and further until his knees hit the couch and he collapses down onto it. “Now are you going to let me take care of this or not?” he asks with a teasing smile, sinking to his knees in between Hannibal’s spread legs.

Hannibal cannot think of a single reason to say no.

Will was more than used to drinking alone. Whether it was at his own house, far more literally, or at a bar so he can pretend it’s not as depressing as it actually is, he had never minded it or felt _lonely._ People generally didn’t approach him and tonight was shaping up to be no exception.

Until it wasn’t. An older man slides into the seat next to him, tall and elegant and devastatingly attractive. Not the kind of person he’d expect to give him the time of day, yet here he was, ordering a drink and radiating interest.

It’s not like Will has ever been in denial about being attracted to both men and women. It was just that one of those was significantly easier to pursue than the other. Especially in the South- he had never wanted to risk making a move. There were enough unrelated reasons he did not do so without adding homophobia into the mix. Well, he sure wasn’t in the South anymore.

“You seem lonely,” is the first thing the man says to him, and Will nearly laughs. It’s like he had been reading his mind.

It would be rude to answer with ‘not really’, especially when he finds he doesn’t have any desire to drive the other man away. Instead, he shrugs. “Used to drinking alone.”

“Does not mean it isn’t lonely,” the tall stranger counters. “It would be such a shame for you to remain alone when I can offer otherwise.”

This time, Will does laugh, mostly from how thick it’s being laid on. “You got a name, or should I just call you ‘Casanova’?”

“Hannibal.” The man offers his hand and when Will takes it, it’s warm.

“Will. Nice to meet you.” He retracts his hand, touch lingering like a shadow of a sensation. “So what brings you to…” he waves his bottle aimlessly, pointing to the room at large.

“Perhaps you were not the only one feeling lonely.” His smile is sharp, shows teeth, a playful glimmer in his eye.

Will leans back, taking a drink of his beer, turning his body to face the other man. “And now?”

“Seeming more and more like a distant memory.”

The beer bottle does nothing to hide Will's growing smile.

They talk for at least an hour, about everything and nothing all at once. He doesn’t really remember what triggers it but they go stumbling out of the bar, laughing and clinging to each other. “Wait, wait, hold on,” Will laughs, stopping Hannibal just off to the side of the entrance. “Here, look at me.” Hannibal does, watching as Will fits a hand behind his neck, tips his head down to bridge the gap and kisses him.

Hannibal opens to it immediately, responding as readily as expected. It feels like they kiss for as long as they had talked until finally, Hannibal pulls away. “Come home with me,” he murmurs, lips on Will’s neck.

“How do you know I’m not a robber?” Will teases, tilting his head away to expose his throat.

“A risk I find I am willing to take,” Hannibal murmurs, in between touches of his lips to the skin before them. Someone exits the bar, a sharp wolf-whistle cutting through the air. “Some privacy may be appreciated,” he adds.

“Alright,” Will laughs, soft and pleased. “‘Home’ it is.”

It’s difficult for them to keep their hands off each other the moment they exit the car. Every moment they aren’t touching feels unacceptable, like an eternity. “Nice place,” Will comments, mostly to try and distract himself.

“You can appreciate it properly in the morning,” Hannibal answers. He sounds somewhat strained, and yet again, Will laughs. 

As soon as the door is locked behind them they’re touching again, kisses more heated, hands pulling apart and shedding layers. They leave a trail of clothes behind them as they move through the house and up the stairs. Hannibal pushes open the door to the bedroom with his foot, pulling Will inside. Will flicks the lights on as they go.

It’s only when he’s being pushed down onto the bed that a thought hits Will. “I’ve never…” It feels embarrassing to admit. What if Hannibal isn’t interested in someone lacking experience? He’ll be clumsy and unpracticed. The man on top of him seems like he deserves so much more. 

“Never?” Hannibal echos, a suggestion of disbelief on his face.

“With a man,” Will clarifies, face heating up.

Blessedly, Hannibal only smiles. “Then I will be gentle. I swear it.” Then he is back on Will’s neck, kissing dark marks into the pale skin there. Again, Will tips his head back, encouraging it to happen. 

Every kiss of teeth and sucking bruise sends a shock of pleasure down his spine. The idea that this man, this stranger he’s known for scant hours, seems so taken with the idea of leaving marks is intoxicating. It’s a heady sort of power, knowing what he does to the man and the ease with which he does it. Lips travel lower, kissing along his collarbone, down along his chest, until the brush of teeth against his nipple makes his breath hitch.

Will has never been one to sit there passively so he snakes a hand down, feeling along Hannibal’s body until he reaches his goal, wrapping his fingers around the half-hard cock. One long stroke results in the teeth biting down, a tiny spark of pain that only serves to highlight the pleasure around it. “Let me see you,” Will whispers, and so Hannibal rears up, hands planted on either side of Will’s frame so keep him steady. 

“Bold for someone so inexperienced,” Hannibal teases. Will has no way of knowing what the other man may like, doesn’t even know what the foreskin might change, so he sticks to what he knows _he_ likes. Long, tight strokes, slow and steady. As the man’s cock fills it shows itself to be of considerable size but not large enough to be genuinely intimidating.

He can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like deep inside of him. 

For the second time that night Will wonders if the other man can read his mind because he leans forward, rummaging through a drawer in the bedside table and returning with a small bottle of lube. The scent alone sends a spike of arousal through Will- _a decidedly Pavlovian reaction,_ he laughs to himself- but then Hannibal is gently removing Will’s hands from around him to move further back, folding the man’s legs up and planting the soles of his feet against the sheets. It tilts his hips up, exposing him.

Hannibal doesn’t have to do much to work Will to full hardness- the feel of the other man’s cock beneath his fingers and the anticipation of what will happen next had gotten him most of the way there already. “I will go slowly, to get you used to the sensation,” Hannibal tells him. “If at any point it becomes too much, tell me and I will stop.”

Will expects to feel the slow and steady press of Hannibal inside of him, but of course he doesn’t, because he’s never slept with a man before, has he? Instead there is a finger slick with lube running down his perineum, circling his entrance with gentle pressure. Will lifts his hips up encouragingly and the tip of the finger slides inside.

It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, far hotter than his own fingers had ever been. It almost feels like it’s burning. “More,” he groans. Hannibal obliges, sinking the finger further in, nearly all the way down.

“How does this feel?” Hannibal’s voice is thick with arousal.

“Good,” Will sighs happily. “It feels good.” It edges in just a touch further until Will can feel the knuckles of Hannibal’s other fingers brush against his balls. “Keep going.” The finger pulls out, not entirely, and then sinks back into him, thrusting into him slowly and carefully. 

“You respond wonderfully,” Hannibal praises, his other hand running fingers up and down Will’s cock but never truly gripping. “It’s like you were made for this.”

“Christ,” Will hisses, the thought pulsing through him. His own body, built for nothing but pleasure. Coming from anyone else he may have been offended. From Hannibal, it feels like the highest praise. More pressure at his entrance and soon another finger slides in to join the first. His body offers nothing in the way of resistance. It all feels warm and hazy, the constant sensation of the fingers fucking in and out of him, sending him boneless and pliant into the mattress. He almost feels like he could fall asleep like this.

Then the fingers curve upwards, jolting him out of the daze as pleasure spirals through him. He only knows his body arched upwards because Hannibal’s other hand is gently pressing him back down into the mattress. The fingers pull back but now, when they bury themselves deep inside again, the end their journey pressing up into his prostate. “Hannibal,” Will pants, chest heaving with his breaths. “Fuck, that feels so-”

“You’re swallowing my fingers so greedily,” Hannibal murmurs. “Would you take my cock just as well?”

“Yes,” Will moans, head tipping back into the pillow. 

“I think you’ve more than adjusted.” The fingers retreat and more lube is squeezed out of the tube, spread along Hannibal’s dick. He moves closer, grabs one of Will’s thighs and folds the leg even further back, lining himself up properly.

Like this, seeing the size of it, how close it is to pushing inside of him- a flash of panic hits Will. It’s too large, there’s no way it won’t hurt, it won’t even fit at all- “Don’t,” he whispers, nearly silent. “Wait, I can’t-”

Hannibal looks at him, head tipped to the side. He’s going to do it anyways, there’s no way he’ll stop here-

But he does, moving backwards on the bed, lowering WIll’s leg as he goes. “Then we will not,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Will’s chest is rising, a sob slipping out of him as his eyes close. “I’m sorry, it’s too much, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” It’s wrong, this was wrong, it’s not-

“Ssh,” Hannibal soothes, gentle and forgiving. “Do not be ashamed. It is not something that should be rushed. We will wait until you are ready.”

This isn’t how it happens. What’s going on? This isn’t right, it wasn’t right- “But you-”

“There are alternatives.” Hannibal bends forwards, lines their bodies up, and Will feels the hot press of the man's cock alongside his own, one of those broad hands wrapping along the two. Will moans, high and unexpected. “Is this okay?”

Shakily, Will nods, eyes still screwed shut. Hannibal thrusts, back and then forwards, into his slick fist and against the hard line of Will motionless under him. He breathes deeply, wills the thoughts to fade, back somewhere far inside of him, buried and untouched. Focuses on the sensation, the way Hannibal’s breathing is picking up, head dropping to rest in the crook of Will’s neck.

Hesitantly, his own hips jerk upwards, joining Hannibal’s in movement. It draws a low moan out of them both. 

Hannibal starts to move his hand as well and it’s all a flurry of motions, their cocks thrusting up into the gently squeezing fist, fingers not quite able to close around them entirely. Will adds his own hand, closes the gaps left, and finally opens his eyes.

His partner is watching him closely, barely an inch of space between their faces as they move, so it’s only right that Will closes the distance to seal them together once more. Their rhythms line up, alternating and not identical, the twin sensations building and building inside of him, blowing away all of the uncertainty and lingering panic. It’s Hannibal that falters first, movements turning jerky and uncoordinated as he gets closer and closer to orgasm before finally falling over the edge.

It’s the sensation of Hannibal pulsing against him and the warm, sticky increase in lubrication that drags Will over not long after. He comes with a cry that Hannibal swallows before it even reaches air.

The exhaustion hits him then. Will sinks further down into the sheets, panting as the pleasure rushes through him. When Hannibal pulls away he groans at the loss. “Thank you,” he manages to whisper before sleep takes him.

They don’t talk about it so Will thinks that maybe he got lucky and Hannibal didn’t even notice. Those hopes are dashed when the man metaphorically corners him over lunch on what should have been their next shared day off, though Will has an extra job he hasn’t quite told Hannibal about yet. “I think we should talk about what happened last week.”

“Last week?” Will tries to play dumb. It doesn’t work.

“The last time we attempted roleplay. You reacted… somewhat unexpectedly.”

Will shrugs. “Like I told you, I’m becoming someone else. Sometimes they have fears and reservations I’m not ready for. Now, I need to leave. I actually have a job today because apparently I don’t know when to shut my goddamn mouth. Sorry for not telling you earlier.” He stands to do just that.

“Sit, Will. The job can wait.” It is a profoundly bad idea to leave this particular client waiting, in fact, but avoiding this conversation might actually be worse. “I have learned to tell the difference between distress you glean from others and what comes from within you. This was genuine. What happened?”

A glance at his watch shows he has _some_ time before he should leave. If he times this right he can get away without actually leaving room for Hannibal to wind this up into whatever he’ll try to turn it into. “The last time. It felt safest to draw from myself instead of another. Ended up being right.”

“It was a memory,” Hannibal says slowly, face darkening as the revelation hits him. “And in reality it ended differently.”

Will nods. “Yeah, that’s about right. It was a really long time ago,” he adds quickly, seeing the black rage contort Hannibal’s features. “We were dumb college kids. I don’t care anymore.”

“What was his name?”

“I really don’t know,” Will answers. “I’m not lying! His first name was John, never got his last.”

“Did you attend college in Louisiana as well? Was he in a fraternity?”

“It barely hurt,” Will hisses. It sounded reassuring in his head. “Wow, look at the time! I really do have to go. Sink won’t unclog itself, after all.”

Hannibal slams his fist down on the table, causing all the tableware to jump. “This is unacceptable, Will. I will not allow you to brush this off as unimportant.”

Oddly, Will softens at that. “Okay, Hannibal, look. I promise we can talk about this later. But I just. Really need to go.”

“Call them a plumber if the sink is truly that bad.”

“Gang de la Brise de Mer don’t really get plumbing issues they can call a normal plumber for. I’ll be back in a couple hours babe, promise.”

Hannibal looks so utterly blank that Will genuinely has no idea what could possibly be running through the man’s head at the moment. It gives him the opening needed to slip out of the house unobstructed.

He knows Hannibal will be furious beyond words, but that’s a problem he can deal with later. At least he can count on the man to not be stupid enough to try and steamroll through a house belonging to a member of one of the largest groups making up the Corsican mafia looking for Will. A member that is apparently seriously hurting for trustworthy repairmen if they went to the trouble of tracking Will down just because of some poorly thought out remarks he had made to a courier who barely even understood him. 

At least he was being paid instead of threatened. Will sighs as he starts his car. He can keep his head down and do his job without asking questions, so he doesn't anticipate running into any trouble.

Hannibal, he's afraid, may create some of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> [Zedd - Beautiful Now ft. Jon Bellion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1a7o44WxNo)


End file.
